Page 74 of What's in a Kiss?

I thank Dr. Lindsay, and Jake and I wave to the rest of the team as they file to their cars.

“Playoffs!” I call weakly.

“Do you want me to carry you to the car?” Jake asks once we’re alone.

I glance around the field, beautiful and empty. I’m not ready to leave just yet.

“Can we stay awhile?”

He smiles and lies down next to me on home plate, propping his duffel bag under our heads. The stars are coming out, and Gram Parsons snuggles between us.

Jake fits his hand in mine. “Your one game and this happens. I’m sorry—”

I turn onto my side to face him. “This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.”

“I’d love that,” Jake says. “But what about your schedule? And... Masha?”

The mention of my best friend’s name conjures immediate happiness... which one second later turns to pain.

But who says this fight with Masha has to be permanent? Who says I can’t win her and my mom back?

For a moment, I can see it—this life but with its biggestproblems fixed, its gaping holes filled with love and laughter—and I don’t mind it.

“I’d want Masha to be comfortable, obviously,” I say to Jake. “More than that. I want to be friends again.”

His smile spurs me on.

“Did I wreck things too much to salvage them?” I ask him.

He runs his fingers gently through my hair and traces my features tenderly with his eyes. “You can fix it. I know you can.”

I hold on to his wrist. “There are a lot of good things in this life.” My voice is a whisper, my lips a feather brush from his.

“Yes, there are,” he says.

“And there are things that could be better.”

“Always.”

“I want to make them better.”

“Anything you want,” he says and leans in closer. “Everything you want, Olivia.”

“Everything?” The question slips out. The suggestive tone in my voice is involuntary. We’re this close to kissing. One more fraction of an inch, and my lips—

“Everything,” he says, his hands gliding up my thighs. “Well, everything but that.”

“Huh?” My heart plummets like a rock in the LA River. My hands and feet grow cold. I feel like I’m back on that curb at prom and Jake’s telling me this would be a waste.

“For twenty-four hours,” he says. “Doctor’s orders.”

“No,” I whine, though I’m relieved at the reason.

“No hard or sudden, rhythmic, pounding motions for twenty-four hours.”

I look at him with fury, then I laugh.

Jake’s eyes light up playfully. He takes out my phone, sets a timer, presses go. He thumbs my lip, sending a lick of pleasure through me as he says, “When this goes off, it’s Sex O’Clock. And I’m going for the record.”